


Lifelines

by sidewinder



Series: The Spaces in Between [5]
Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Episode Related, Episode s05e22: Painless, Established Relationship, Multi, discussion of suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-02 04:22:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13310328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidewinder/pseuds/sidewinder
Summary: Fin finally needs to know what's going on between John and Amy.





	Lifelines

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ApexOnHigh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ApexOnHigh/gifts).



> First, thank you to ApexOnHigh for contributing to this great charity effort! You asked for a story in my Spaces "universe", particularly one dealing with Amy and how Fin might respond to her and John's relationship. I hope you enjoy this (and of course, it went longer than the minimum promised :)

“Ah… Nothing like starting your Monday morning off with a thoroughly ripe dead body. Don’t you agree?”

“Mmph,” Fin grunted in less-than-enthusiastic response as he pulled out some necessary VapoRub. Not that he could argue with John’s observation, for this _was_ a shitty way to begin the work week. But Fin didn’t feel up for his partner’s unrelenting sarcasm and dark humor quite yet. The summer heat wasn’t helping Fin’s disposition, and neither was the stench. The body in question had clearly been left to fester in this apartment, sans air conditioning, for at least several days. Finally one of the neighbors had complained and the super had let himself in to a very nasty discovery.

Fin was glad he’d skipped breakfast, or else it might be threatening to come up on him. And they’d only just stepped through the doorway.

“C’mon, let’s do this quick so we can get some fresh air,” he insisted, spotting Melinda in the other room bending over what had to be their victim.

“As if you can call anything in this city ‘fresh’ in these dog days of August,” John replied.

“I had fresh bagels yesterday morning, from that deli you like so much. You missed out.”

“I’ll make it up to you later,” John promised, and Fin was certain he would. So he tried not to feel miffed over the fact that John had blown him off, on the one day they’d had free from work last week.

After all, they both had their own lives to live. They didn’t need to spend _every_ moment together. And that was fine.

Still, Fin wasn’t certain _why_ , for several months now, John had been spending a good part of his free time visiting a woman he’d once been dead set on convicting of murder.

* * *

The sight of the body had been as stomach-churning as Fin had feared from the smell alone, but thankfully they’d been able to escape the scene after getting Melinda’s first observations. They spent the rest of their morning on the tedious—but less gruesome—task of canvassing the victim’s apartment building and surrounding businesses for any potential information or leads.

Lunchtime eventually arrived and, with digestive systems settled and stomachs rumbling, they retreated to a nearby coffeeshop for a meal and to pull together their notes.

“Not much luck with the neighbors,” Fin said as he looked over their sparse findings. “Seems Miranda Germain kept to herself.”

“Like most native New Yorkers,” John answered, stirring sugar into his iced tea. “Benson and Stabler are on their way to contact her parents, so we can try her workplace next. Find out if she talked about any boyfriend, girlfriend, or upcoming date. It didn’t look like a break-in attack but rather someone she let inside voluntarily.”

“Sounds good.” There wasn’t a whole lot else they could do until the complete findings from the M.E. were back, as the crime didn’t appear to fit any open, pattern rape-homicides. Their food arrived and Fin attacked his fries with gusto. John, meanwhile, began his usual careful inspection of his chef’s salad, picking out all the cucumbers and depositing them on his bread plate. Fin shook his head and noted, as he had on many previous occasions, “Why don’t you just ask them to leave off the cucumbers?”

“Because half the time they forget anyway, which leaves me cranky over the waitstaff and kitchen’s incompetence. The other half of the time I’m paranoid about what an annoyed chef or server might have put _in_ the salad as an alternative. This is far less stressful for all involved.”

“Whatever.” When John had finished his thorough dissection, Fin stole the plate of cucumbers to add some slices to his burger.

They ate in silence for a few minutes before John said, “Sorry about yesterday, by the way. Found out a friend was having a health crisis and I wanted to check on her, make sure she was all right.”

“A friend who happens to be an inmate at Bedford Hills?” John paused and glanced up, obviously surprised about the discovery of his little secret. Fin shrugged and explained, “I know you’ve been keepin’ up with Amy Solwey since the end of her trial. So what’s that about?”

“It’s…complicated.”

Fin snorted. “What _isn’t_ complicated with you, man. I don’t understand it, unless…”

“Unless what?”

Fin shrugged, looked down at his burger. He’d been avoiding this conversation because he knew it was going to be awkward. But after all this time he had to get the truth about what was going on. “Well, you know. She ain’t bad lookin’, all things considered.”

“I don’t know if I should be amused by your apparent jealousy, Fin, or insulted that you’d think I’d become involved with someone else when we’re…what we are.”

 _Yeah, whatever that is._ Fuck buddies, partners-with-benefits, they didn’t name it. It was easier that way...most of the time. “I’m not jealous,” Fin insisted. “But I am confused. First you wanted to make sure she got convicted of murder by proxy. Now you’re seeing her every month?”

“How do you know how frequently I’ve been visiting Amy?”

“I might’ve made a call to a corrections officer I know who works at Bedford Hills,” Fin admitted, to which John only gave him a smug smirk. “Yeah, all right, so are you gonna explain yourself or just tell me to mind my own damn business?”

“No, it’s a fair question. The truth of the matter is, Amy and I…we’ve been helping each other work through some things.”

“What kind of things?”

John sighed and put down his fork. “I suppose I’ve been helping her find reasons to live, while she’s helping me understand why some people could want nothing more than to die. I’ve never been able to comprehend that.”

“Not even when a person’s already dyin’ or crippled by pain, and there’s no hope for anything but suffering for the rest of their life?” John’s stance on such matters had always perplexed Fin. In all other ways he was so adamantly dedicated to protecting personal autonomy and freedom, it seemed a jarring contradiction.

“That’s the struggle,” John admitted. “I can respect that choice when a person’s lived a long and full life, made peace with their loved ones. And when they’ve made that choice in a state of full mental competence. But otherwise? I’d always want to hold out hope—hold on to _life,_ if nothing else. And I think we should help others do the same, not encourage them to look toward death as their only option.” He picked at his salad with distraction, and Fin waited for the rest of the story—the one he sensed John struggling to formulate into words. “I’ve experienced first-hand what suicide can do to the people left behind. The grieving, the guilt over not having seen it coming, or feeling somehow responsible… It’s not a victimless crime. That guilt is something else we’ve been working on together.”

Fin nodded. He wanted to know more, for he could tell that the “first-hand” experience John mentioned had to be very personal indeed, going by his partner’s pained expression. But he could also tell that it would have to be a story shared some other day, some place other than a noisy, busy restaurant. So to divert the conversation slightly he asked, “So how’s she doin’ in prison?”

“She’s fighting—to stay alive.”

“Then I guess your help is payin’ off.”

“I’d like to think so.” And in John’s eyes Fin saw gratitude for understanding, which he accepted without comment. He picked up another slice of cucumber for his burger while John stole a fry off his plate, lunchtime returning to business as usual.

* * *

John looked up at the sound of the security door buzzing open, and then smiled to see Amy wheeling herself over. “Hello, John,” she said, both speaking and signing her greeting.

“Hello, Amy,” he responded in kind. He could only manage some simple phrases and questions in ASL at this point but he was determined to learn more. Picking up new languages had always been a passion of his, something for which he seemed to have a natural talent. Making the effort was important to him, because Amy was important. “Good to see you’re out of the infirmary and getting around again.”

“For now.” She smiled, but looked tired, and pained. “But maybe, not for long. My attorney is petitioning for compassionate release.”

“Thing are getting that bad?”

“They aren’t getting better.” She shrugged.

“Is there anyone I can talk to, who might help move things along?” he asked.

“Talking to me is enough,” she told him, her smile warming. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“I’m glad _you’re_ here,” John said, words that carried far more than their surface sentiment—for both of them.

 


End file.
